


Part II: Horseshoe Overlook

by Ithiel_Dragon



Series: Never Was a Story of More Woe [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, O'Driscoll John Marston, Period-Typical Homophobia, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Red Dead Redemption 2 Spoilers, Romance, Slow Burn, Torture, Van der Linde Arthur Morgan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2020-01-06 18:01:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18393521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ithiel_Dragon/pseuds/Ithiel_Dragon
Summary: Horseshoe Overlook was a vast improvement over their previous camp.  The perfect place for the Van der Linde gang to lie low and get back on their feet after Blackwater.  Arthur was nearly recovered from the injury he received at Colter.  He was more than ready to get back to work and put those events behind him.  He never expected to see John Marston again... much less so soon.





	1. Chapter 1

The camp at Horseshoe Overlook was a vast improvement to Colter by far.  But after being bedridden for nearly three weeks, healing from the knife wound in his belly, Arthur was just about sick of it. 

He probably would have been fine to get back to work after a week or two, but Hosea was relentless.  Punishment probably, at least in part, for the circumstances of receiving the wound to begin with.  While Arthur would agree that had been a little… excessive. It wasn’t as though it had been _his_ idea.  Still, everyday Arthur reminded himself that it could have ended very differently.  Charles could just as easily decided to kill him for his ‘betrayal’ and he wouldn’t have blamed the man.  So Arthur tried damned hard not to  fuss too much about the enforced bed rest.

Even if it went entirely against his nature. 

Unfortunately even once he was allowed to leave his tent, he was still forbidden to do anything more strenuous than taking short walks around the camp.  At the first sign of becoming winded, or if his hand went to his stomach for any reason, he was promptly sent back to his cot and ordered to _rest_ .  This order hadn’t even come from Hosea, but _Dutch._ He supposed Hosea hadn’t been lying when he claimed he had given Dutch a scare and Arthur felt guilty enough about the whole mess that he couldn’t bring himself to argue.  

Miss Grimshaw enforced Dutch’s order with an iron fist.  He wasn’t allowed to help with the usual camp chores while he was still healing.  No hauling bales of hay or bags of grain. No picking up or carrying pails of water. Definitely no chopping wood.  They didn’t even let him help Pearson with the cooking, since that would involve standing for too long. In effect, he was allowed to draw, read, or sit quietly by the fire… and it was starting to drive him insane.

He wasn’t used to so much downtime.  At all. He couldn’t even leave camp for a simple ride because it would put too much strain on his healing stomach muscles.  Which left Arthur metaphorically climbing the walls in boredom.

Seeing this, Susan eventually took pity on him and found him a few simple light chores to do.  While it didn’t do much for his dignity to be demoted to darning socks and sewing up holes in clothing with the camp women, at least it was something to keep his mind and hands occupied.  He also spent a lot of time carving new wooden toys for Jack.  So for the time being he was the boy’s favorite person.

That had probably been the one bright spot in this whole mess. 

The energetic four year old was all too happy to keep him company through the long hours of the day.  The men in camp were usually much too busy to spend much time with the boy, so Jack was very much taking advantage of his new playmate.  He watched inquisitively as Arthur whittled small pieces of wood into various animals, and didn’t complain about wanting to play while Arthur helped him learn his letters and read. Abigail was grateful for the small reprieve.  As much as she loved her son, Arthur could only imagine how hard it was taking care of a young boy while she also had a baby at her breast, even with the rest of the gang to help.

At the moment, he and Jack were sat under a tree a bit away from the bustle of camp.  Arthur looked on as the boy worked through a new storybook Bill (of all people) had picked up for him somewhere. A familiar melancholy filled Arthur as he listened to Jack carefully sounding out the letters, helping with the more difficult words when necessary. Jack reminded him a lot of Isaac.  He’d only just begun to teach his son how to read during one of his visits when…

Arthur closed his eyes and swallowed against the sudden emotion making his throat tight.

Jack looked nothing like Isaac.  His own son had been the spitting image of himself when Arthur had been a boy.  In contrast, Jack had his mother’s dark hair, eyes, and fine features, so it was nearly impossible to tell who the boy’s real father was.  If Arthur was a betting man, his money would be on Dutch. Not that it really mattered. Everyone in the gang loved Jack as though the boy was their own.  Still, it was a little ironic that Abigail’s son reminded him so much of Isaac, when he knew for certain that Jack wasn’t his. Considering he’d probably been the only man who _hadn’t_ slept with her when she first joined the gang. 

She was one of the few who knew why as well…

“Arthur?  Are you alright?” Abigail’s soft voice drew him out of his thoughts and he opened his eyes.  Abigail stood a few steps away, cradling her infant daughter gently in her arms. Unlike her brother, little Emily’s shocking red hair left no doubt as to who her father really was. 

Sean had been utterly ecstatic when the girl had been born, and to his credit, immediately stepped up to take responsibility for providing for his daughter, Abigail, and even Jack.  Arthur probably wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. Though the Irish boy was still loud and rather obnoxious, he’d curbed a lot of his immature behaviors when he’d become a father, and it was no secret he doted on his new family. There’d even been talk about Abigail and Sean getting married at some point soon…

Course… that was all before Blackwater…

They didn’t even know if Sean was still alive at this point…

As his eyes began to sting, Arthur cursed himself inwardly and rubbed at them furiously.  If he actually started crying he was going to put his gun between his teeth and pull the fucking trigger…

“Arthur?”

“I’m fine…” he replied with a heavy sigh and combed his fingers roughly through his hair, “I’m just tired.”

“Maybe you should rest…” Abigail offered, and something snapped inside of Arthur.

“I’m tired of fucking resting,” he growled with enough venom that her eyes widened in alarm and he saw little Jack flinch away from him out of the corner of his eye.  Arthur immediately felt like the worst human being alive and dropped his gaze, ashamed of himself.

“I’m sorry,” he offered earnestly.  After a moment of silence, Abigail turned to her son.

“Jack, why don’t you ask Uncle Hosea to help you read for a while, so I can talk to Uncle Arthur,” she said gently.

“Okay, mama,” Jack replied obediently and scrambled up.  Arthur winced slightly but didn’t comment. He’d make it up to the boy later.  Abigail immediately took her son’s place sitting beside him under the tree. Arthur looked over to the sleeping baby in her arms.

“How she doing?” he asked softly.  They’d all been worried about the infant when they were forced to escape over the mountain after Blackwater.  That kind of weather could be deadly even for a fully grown adult, never mind the baby girl.

“Okay, I think.  A bit of a runny nose, but no fever.  How are you doing, Arthur?” she asked.  Arthur shrugged slightly.

“I’m fine.” 

“You don’t seem fine,” Abigail replied frankly.  That was something that Arthur had always liked about her.  Her no bullshit attitude. She might not look it, but she was a formidable woman.  She’d certainly given Sean a run for his money. A good thing, since the kid definitely needed a firm hand. 

If things had been different, he could have seen himself asking her to marry him…

But they’d never had that kind of relationship.  Not for her lack of trying in the beginning. Abigail had been seventeen when Uncle had introduced her to the rest of the gang. She’d been a thief and whore for many years before that and she hadn’t turned down any of the men in the gang who’d wanted to bed her. That didn’t bother Arthur none.  It was an honest enough profession. Though as far as he knew, he was the only one in the gang she’d gone out of her way to actually flirt with. Probably because he was the only one who hadn’t propositioned her first. 

He’d always turned her advances down, politely of course.  Eventually one night, after way too much liquor on both their parts, she’d asked him why.  He’d been drunk enough to tell her the truth, that he hadn’t been with a woman since his son and son's mother had been killed.  He went on to admit that he’d only ever been intimate with a handful of people in his life. Men or women, it didn’t really matter to him.  Because he usually had to get to know someone before he even started to feel attracted to them. Of course this usually ended up in his heart being broken more often than not when things didn't work out.

The next day he’d been embarrassed by his confession, of course.  But she’d reassured him that his secret was safe with her.  Over the years, he’d come to think of Abigail like a sister.  He loved her dearly, just… not in that way. Which was why he could rarely lie to her when she looked at him in that concerned way she was doing now. 

“It’s been… hard,” he admitted, lifting his head to glance back towards the camp. 

“It was... bad business in Colter,” she agreed, dropping her voice.  Worried about being overheard, Arthur hummed softly in agreement.

“You probably shouldn’t even be talking to me right now,” Arthur warned.  While things had mostly gone back to normal after leaving the mountain, he'd continued to receive some suspicious, or downright glowering, looks from some in the gang.  Though Dutch hadn’t said anything about what had happened, or even treated him any different, he knew the older man probably still had doubts about what happened. Arthur didn’t want to make things difficult for Abigail just for interacting with him, “Folks don’t exactly trust me no more…”

“That’s not true, Arthur,” Abigail protested, and when he raised an eyebrow at that, she sighed heavily, “Not for everyone, at any rate.  I think mostly… they’re just scared. I’ve never seen Dutch act like… that... before. Never seen _you_ act like that either.”

Arthur couldn’t really dispute that.  What happened at Colter had been a god damned disaster, and he hadn’t exactly been feeling like himself since.  It wasn’t that he regretted doing what he’d done. He knew he’d done the right thing. But…

“It’s… a long story.  Sorry for scaring you,” he apologized.  She sighed in frustration.

“I’m not scared of you, Arthur.  I’m scared _for_ you,” she said, “You know you can talk to me about anything that’s bothering you.  I just want to help.”

“I know.  It’s just… I’m starting to feel like a god damned prisoner here…” he admitted. 

Abigail was silent for several moments before she moved, and to his surprise, offered the baby in her arms to him, “Hold Emily for a moment?  I’ll be right back.”

Arthur didn’t have much of a chance to question or protest.  The little girl woke briefly from the slight jostling and started to make fussing noises.  But a few soft murmurs and gentle rocking was all it took to settle her down again. If it weren’t for that red hair, he wouldn’t have believed she was Sean’s daughter.  She was such a quiet and sweet baby. It wasn’t long before Abigail returned, smiling at him, and looking quite pleased with herself. Arthur returned Emily to her mother with a raised eyebrow.

“What was that about?”

“The girls had been talking about wanting to take a trip into Valentine.  We also need supplies. I told them you’d offered to drive the wagon, so you better hurry up,” she replied.  Arthur’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline in surprise, then he gave her a dubious look as he climbed to his feet carefully.

“Does Hosea know about this?” he asked.

“Of course,” she answered, and though Arthur had his doubts he wasn’t about to complain.  He’d wanted to get out of camp for a while, and this was the perfect opportunity. Smiling, he leaned forward to press a quick kiss to her cheek. 

“Thank you,” he said, walking towards the wagon that Uncle was busy hitching the horses to. 

“You can thank me by staying out of trouble,” she said, giving him a meaningful look.  

 

* * *

 

To his credit, he really hadn’t been expecting to get thrown through a window. 

He’d drove Uncle, Tilly, Mary-Beth, and Karen to Valentine without incident.  Uncle went into the general store, while the girls scattered around town to look for leads.  Arthur had noticed Javier and Charles’ horses hitched outside of the saloon, so he decided to see what the men were up to.  Drinking and whoring it turned out. They seemed surprised to see him, but not necessarily displeased. Especially when Arthur offered to buy the next round. 

Arthur had barely touched his own whiskey when Bill stumbled into the saloon, far drunker than the other two men (no surprise there).  It wasn’t even much of a surprise when the fight broke out (or that it was Bill’s fault). But even outnumbered two to one, Dutch’s boys had been doing pretty well in the brawl.  Arthur had received a few good hits, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle.

Until the lumbering mountain of a man, more than a full head taller than Arthur, and twice as wide, joined the fray.  The huge man had gone for Javier at first, and Arthur intervened.  Managing to pull the big man off the Mexican, preventing Javier from getting his head caved in. Unfortunately as much as he wanted to deny it, Arthur wasn’t as recovered from his injury as he might have pretended. The larger man landed a solid punch to his stomach, making Arthur double over, gasping for breath in pain.  The next thing Arthur knew, he was flying through the saloon’s front window into the muddy street.

After that, Arthur knew the fight wasn’t going to end well for him.  It would have been a difficult fight even if he was at his full strength, which it was becoming blatantly obvious that he was not.  Arthur managed to get a few good licks in, but as soon as the huge man got him on his back, and his thick hands wrapped around Arthur’s throat, that was pretty much it.  Despite how Arthur twisted and kicked, he just couldn’t get the leverage he needed to throw him off, and Arthur didn’t have the strength to break the man’s hold.

Dark spots began to dance before his eyes.  He started to genuinely worry the man would actually choke him to death, when there was a loud crack, and suddenly the pressure on his neck went slack.  Arthur coughed roughly, gasping for breath as he rolled out of the way, barely managing to avoid the big man falling on him. Distantly he heard some women screaming and angry shouts from the crowd that had gathered. He only understood why when he looked over to see the man who’d nearly choked him had been shot clean through the head. 

Surely Javier, Charles, or even Bill, weren't dumb enough to shoot a man in the middle of the street in broad daylight surrounded by witnesses?  But when he looked up he saw all three men stumble out of the saloon, looking just as shocked as he was by the situation. Before Arthur could begin to figure out what had happened, a different shout from the crowd stopped them all cold.

“Hold it right there!  Put your hands up!” the sheriff ordered, training his gun on Arthur while his deputies leveled their weapons on Javier, Charles, and Bill.

Just great...


	2. Chapter 2

Dutch wasn’t too pleased at having to spend what little funds the gang had left to get them all out of jail.  But at least the charge was only for disorderly conduct and not murder. Oh, Arthur could tell the sheriff _wanted_ to pin that on them too.  But for once the fact that there had been over two dozen witnesses to the fight worked in their favor. None of them could confirm where the shot had come from, only that it hadn’t been from Arthur, Javier, Bill, or Charles.  So the sheriff had to let them go.

Thankfully none of them had any bounty posters hanging in the sheriff’s office, or things could have turned out a lot differently.

Dutch’s expression was thunderous as they rode back to camp, and the four men followed behind him with their heads hung like chastised little boys.  Arthur held his hand to his side and tried not to wince with every movement the horse made under him. The big black shire belonged to Hosea, since Arthur hadn’t gotten the chance to get a horse of his own yet. It had a gentle enough gait, surprisingly, but he’d been sore ever since that big bastard had punched him in the gut the day before. Arthur didn’t think it had caused any further damage, but it still hurt like hell.

He was glad when they finally made it back to camp, and as much as he’d railed against it before, he was actually looking forward to laying down on his cot for a good long rest. But apparently he wouldn’t be getting that chance, as Dutch stormed over to him while Arthur was busy hitching the shire as soon as they arrived.

“Since you’re well enough to get into bar fights, it’s about time you got back to work.  Go talk to Strauss,” Dutch ordered sharply, then walked away before Arthur could even mutter a soft ‘sure’ in reply. Well, this was what he wanted, wasn’t it?  For Dutch to stop treating him like he was made of glass and let him get back to work… Arthur sighed.  What was the saying? Be careful what you wish for?

Work for Strauss meant collecting on debts.  Dutch knew he hated that kind of work. Threatening and beating poor unfortunates who were dumb enough to borrow money from the old German wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time.  In fact, it often left him feeling a little sick afterwards. He had no problem with robbing from people who could obviously afford it, but…

Arthur sighed again before he started over to where Strauss was busy working away in one of his books.  He offered a half-hearted wave to Abigail on the way who gave him an exasperated but relieved look in reply. She’d obviously heard about what had happened in town from the other girls and she’d probably give him an ear full of it later.  That was, if Hosea hadn’t already nagged his ears off before she had the chance. Maybe getting out of camp for a bit wasn’t such a bad thing after all…

“Arthur!  Arthur, wait,” Arthur stopped and turned with a raised eyebrow as Javier hurried over to him.  The Mexican hadn’t said more than a few words to him since they’d arrived at Horseshoe Overlook, and he’d been uncharacteristically quiet when they were all locked in jail together.  Arthur couldn’t help feeling wary as Javier stood in front of him now, looking about as uncomfortable as anyone could.

“I just… wanted to say, thank you,” Javier said quickly, and Arthur blinked in surprise. 

“For what?” he asked, confused.  He knew Javier was one of the few who still had doubts about Arthur’s loyalty after what had happened with John…

It was Javier’s turn to look surprised.

“In the saloon… I probably… well… if you hadn’t stepped in when you did…” Javier explained, casting a glance downward where Arthur still had a hand pressed against his stomach.  Javier had no doubt seen the blow Arthur had taken to the gut. Arthur dropped his hand to his side and shrugged.

“You would have done the same for me…” Arthur said before really thinking about it, but he didn’t miss the flash of guilt in the other man’s eyes that told him otherwise.  It was proof enough of just how much faith some of the gang had lost in him.

“Right.  Of course,” Javier agreed anyway, even offering him a smile that seemed genuine, “Well, if you need anything, just let me know.”

“Sure,” Arthur agreed, and Javier clasped him on the shoulder in a friendly manner before leaving him to his devices.  He noticed Charles looking in his direction, and the other man gave him a nod of approval. It lifted Arthur’s spirits and gave him hope that maybe things could finally start getting back to normal.  

 

* * *

 

Strauss had been busy since they arrived at Horseshoe Overlook.  Which meant, the next few days were busy for Arthur as well.

Word had gotten around about his fight with the huge brute in Valentine (who’d been named Tommy apparently) and Arthur’s reputation preceded him.  He might have been losing said fight before someone had intervened and shot the man, but the fact that he’d gone toe to toe with Tommy at all was intimidating enough to the locals that most handed over what they owed to the gang with little trouble.  He’d only had to beat a few stubborn idiots, and ride down one asshole who’d tried to run (not exactly an easy feat since he was still using Hosea’s shire horse, and they weren’t exactly built for speed.)

While he was out collecting debts, he took the opportunity to explore the area and track down other jobs as well.  He held up a few unsuspecting travelers on the road that were easy pickings. He helped steal a stagecoach with Hosea, and cleaned out a homestead with Javier.  He also went out hunting and collected a few decent pelts which he sold for good money at the butcher in Valentine. Though he really struck gold, literally, while he was exploring the ruins of the burnt out old town of Limpany not far away from where the gang was camped.  In the sheriff’s office he uncovered a lockbox with a full gold bar tucked away inside.  With the money he'd received after fencing it, he was able to replace most of what the gang had lost when they fled from Blackwater.

Mood around the camp improved greatly after that, and it seemed things were finally getting back to normal. So, of course, that’s when things had to go to hell again. 

 

* * *

 

 “Herr Morgan, I have another job for you.  A farmer, preacher, by the name of Thomas Downes,” Strauss told him one afternoon.  Arthur had just gotten back from hunting. He'd managed to bag a good sized buck for Pearson's stew, but he hadn’t even had the chance to wash the blood off himself yet before Strauss had ambushed him.

“That do-gooder from Valentine?” he replied offhandedly while he rinsed his hands in the wash bucket.  He’d seen the man around, trying to guilt the locals into donating for some charity or another. Maybe he should have kept some of that money to pay off his debt. 

“That’s the one.  But don’t let him fool you, he’s slipperier than he seems, and I’ve tried being polite,” Strauss went on, obviously frustrated.  He usually didn’t get so worked up, so Downes must have been troublesome indeed.

“Yeah, I know the type.  Fine, I’ll head over there later,” Arthur agreed, resigned.  He knew Strauss kept coming to him because of Dutch. This was definitely punishment for what had happened in Valentine.  Maybe for Colter too. So as much as Arthur wanted to argue and tell Strauss to go find someone else to collect for a while, he’d do it. He was just starting to regain some favor with the rest of the gang, and he didn’t want to jeopardize that. 

So he finished cleaning himself up as best he could and changed his clothes to stave off Miss Grimshaw’s nagging.  Though he would probably just get bloody all over again if he ended up having to beat the debt out of Downes.  Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.  He made his way over to the hitching post, saddled up the big black shire, and gave the ornery animal a sugar cube in apology for taking him out again so soon. He really needed to think about getting himself a better horse soon… Maybe he’d stop at the stables in Valentine to see what they had for sale.  He still had a bit of money left over from his good luck, and he was planning to look for Downes in town first anyway, since that’s where he often saw the man. If he was smart, he’d pay up without a fuss, and things wouldn’t have to get… messy…

These things in mind, Arthur was a bit distracted when he rode into town, and actually startled when someone called out to him.

“Arthur Morgan.  Fancy seeing you here.”

Arthur stopped cold, feeling his stomach drop and his heart began to race as he slowly turned his head in the direction the voice had come from.  A part of him wished his ears were playing tricks on him and he didn’t _actually_ recognize the familiar voice.  But neither his ears nor eyes were deceiving him.  It really was John _fucking_ Marston, leaning casually against the railing on the second floor balcony of the hotel, smoke swirling lazily around him from the cigarette hanging from his quirked lips.

“What are you doing here?” Arthur called back in disbelief before he could help himself, then he quickly looked around in almost a panic.  He thought he saw most of his gang back at Horseshoe Overlook, but there was always a chance someone could be in town for some reason or another.  If any of Arthur’s gang saw John… god forbid if they saw them _talking…_ He was dead… they were _both_ dead.  What the fuck was Marston thinking! 

Anger quickly welled up inside of Arthur at the sheer recklessness on display.  After everything that had happened, after everything that Arthur had _risked_ to give John a chance to escape, for John to just…

“Get the hell out of sight, you moron!” Arthur growled, and somehow he wasn’t surprised when John merely smirked at him in reply, taking the cigarette from his lips and blowing out a puff of smoke before flicking the butt at him. Arthur growled as he urged the shire to quickly sidestep to avoid it.  John seemed completely unfazed by the glare he shot up at him in response.

“Why don’t you come on up?  I think we’ve got a lot to talk about,” John offered casually, before straightening and turning to head back inside his room.  Like he didn’t have a care in the world. Leaving Arthur outside staring up at the now empty balcony with his jaw hanging open, catching flies. 

Of all the…

Arthur glanced around quickly again, but no one was paying him any attention.  Thankfully, Arthur still didn’t see anyone else from the gang hanging around town.  But that could change at any time. This was a bad idea… He couldn’t believe the boy was _actually_ this stupid.  Surely he understood the danger he was in.  He had to know that if Arthur was there then others in his gang might be too.  So why was John here? Could it actually be a coincidence?

Arthur didn’t believe in coincidences.  But in that case, Marston was there for a reason, and he wasn’t going to find out what that was standing around in the street. 

So, against his better judgement, Arthur urged the shire over to the hitching post in front of the hotel.  When he went inside, the hotel manager greeted him politely and told him his ‘friend’ was waiting for him in room number two.  Arthur’s frown deepened, but he thanked the man anyway, and headed up the stairs.

Downes was just going to have to wait.  


	3. Chapter 3

“I want you to get close to Arthur Morgan.  Gain his trust.”

Those were Colm’s words to John while he was pulling up his trousers one morning.  John froze in surprise, but only for a moment. His hesitation barely noticeable. He considered his answer carefully as he bent over to retrieve his shirt from the floor of the cabin. 

“How should I do that, exactly?” John asked, trying to sound nonchalant.  Pretending the older man’s order hadn’t made his heart skip several beats. 

“I know you ain’t as dumb as you pretend, boy,” Colm replied blandly.  John sighed as he tugged on his shirt, ignoring the way the material rubbed uncomfortably at the raw scratches that had been left on his back the night before.  He didn’t bother buttoning it up as he turned to face the older man, still lounging in the bed they’d shared, smoking lazily.

Cigarette smoked danced in the air between them, the only movement in the room for several moments.  Each man waiting for the other to make the next move. John finally reached down to boldly take the cigarette from Colm’s lips and sucked a long drag off it himself.  Colm quirked an amused eyebrow at him. Only John was ever allowed to be so bold with the older man, but even then, it was only in certain circumstances.

“Fine,” John finally said.  It wouldn’t be the first time Colm had whored him out to someone for whatever reason.  There was very little John wouldn’t do if Colm ordered him to.  Course he also knew one day Colm would push him too far, demand too much… but today wasn’t that day. Besides, hadn’t he once thought it might not be so bad to fuck Arthur Morgan?  Well… that was before he’d learned he was one of Dutch's Boys…

“I don’t exactly know where to find him, though,” John pointed out.  Colm merely smirked at him.

“I’ve got word some of Dutch’s people have been sighted in Valentine.  Start there,” Colm told him. John couldn’t say he was surprised. Colm wasn’t exactly the forgiving type. He’d have his men keep an eye out for the Van der Linde gang after what had happened on the mountain. John wasn’t dumb enough to believe that had anything to do with what had been done to him or _Kieran_ .  More the fact that Dutch had gotten in the middle of Colm’s business yet again.  Lessons had to be made. Anyone who crossed Colm had to be made an example of. Not that Colm didn’t already have enough reasons to want Dutch Van der Linde dead. 

“What makes you think he’d even be interested in me?” John asked as he started doing up the buttons of his shirt.  Not arguing, merely curious. At that, Colm actually chuckled.

“Well, boy.  You certainly ain’t much to look at anymore,” the older man agreed, and John ignored the sting that observation caused, “but if Morgan really does have a soft spot for you... I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Which was how John had ended up in the town of Valentine, just in time to watch Arthur Morgan get thrown through a window. 

He'd recognized the man immediately, even through the pouring rain and mud.  He watched from around the side of the hotel as Arthur and a man twice his size grappled in front of the Saloon.  It wasn’t much of an actual fight, but he had to admit, Arthur was doing better than John would have expected.  Given he was all too aware of the injuries the older man had sustained not so long ago…

But soon John was faced with a dilemma.  The bigger man managed to get Arthur on the ground, started choking him, and none of the gawkers in the street seemed intent on doing anything about it neither.  John chewed on his lower lip, worrying a healing cut enough that he tasted blood. If he did nothing, there was a chance Morgan would die right then and there. Normally that wouldn’t have mattered much to John, but Colm had given him orders… Get _close_ to Morgan… and John couldn’t exactly do that if the man was _dead_ . 

With a soft curse John darted up the stairs outside the hotel as quickly as he could, knowing he needed a better vantage point.  When he made it to the upper balcony he quickly hoisted himself up onto the roof. Thankfully no one saw him. It would have been easier if he had his rifle on him, but he’d just have to make do with his revolvers.  He’d have to make it count.

In the end, it only took one bullet.

When the behemoth fell over, John breathed out a small sigh of relief.  Arthur sat up, looking a little worse for wear, but definitely alive. He had just enough time to watch the sheriff arrive to arrest Morgan before John made a hasty exit.   _That_ was less than ideal, but John was confident that Dutch Van der Linde wouldn’t let any of his men stay in jail for long.  He just had to be patient.

John didn’t return to Valentine until nightfall, _long_ after the commotion had died down.  Then he rented a room that had a decent view of the streets below, and waited.  He watched as Dutch eventually showed up to collect his men, and paid special attention to what all of them (and their horses) looked like so he could be sure to avoid them later. The last thing he needed was any of the Van der Linde gang to notice him before he was ready.

Over the next several days it was easy enough to learn the comings and goings of the locals and catch up on gossip.  Not much of note happened in the small livestock town, so there was plenty of talk to go around about the ‘out of work factory employees’ that were camped out at Horseshoe Overlook. Not to mention he must have heard the story about the saloon fight told a dozen different ways in the week he’d been there. 

If the Van der Linde gang was looking to lie low here, they sure as hell weren’t doing a good job of it. 

Still, it gave John plenty of information to work with while he planned his next move.  He’d seen Arthur in town a few times since he’d first arrived. Usually the man made trips to the general store or gun shop, for supplies.  Though on occasion he brought in pelts and animal carcasses for the butcher in exchange for coin. He never stayed in Valentine for very long, unlike some others in his gang did. Sloppy is what it was.  Spending nights drinking and whoring, it would have been laughably easy for John to pick off a few of Dutch's Boys when they left the saloon, almost too drunk to stay on their horses.  It was tempting that’s for sure. Would have been a satisfying retribution for the treatment they’d given him back at Colter…

But he had orders, so unfortunately, revenge would have to wait. 

John finally decided to make his move when he saw Arthur riding into town that afternoon.  He knew no one else in the Van der Linde gang was around, for once, so he had no problem showing himself out in the open.  Arthur, unsurprisingly, was shocked and seemed none too pleased to see him. He was also understandably wary of his invitation, but that was fine.  He’d worked with less.

He undid the first few buttons of his shirt as he moved over to the bed and reclined casually on it.  John then grabbed the bottle of whiskey he'd set on the nightstand earlier. He took a long swig right from the bottle just as he heard the loud stomping of boots coming down the hallway.  They came to a stop outside his door. 

“It’s open,” he called out, not bothering to wait for Arthur to knock.  There was a pronounced length of silence where John began to wonder if Arthur might just walk away.  But then the knob turned and the door swung open.  There stood Arthur Morgan… with his gun drawn. So the man wasn’t a complete fool after all.  John smiled like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, and lifted both of his hands. One holding the bottle, and the other empty, to show that he was unarmed.  Arthur’s gun lowered a fraction but he didn’t holster it.

“What are you doing here?” Arthur asked, his tone as sharp as glass. 

“Is that any way to talk to a friend?” John admonished with a soft click of his tongue.  The older man’s eyes narrowed as he glanced around the room distrustfully. No doubt noticing John’s holster and guns hanging off the back of a chair.  Not close enough for John to reach easily, but that still didn’t seem enough to put the man at ease.

“We ain’t friends.  Answer my question,” Arthur demanded.  His aim never wavered from the center of John’s chest.  John wondered if Arthur actually planned on pulling the trigger if he gave him reason to, or if it was all a show. 

“I came to find you, of course,” John replied easily enough.  Lying would be pointless. Arthur would never believe the two of them bumping into each other like this was just a coincidence.  Still, the man seemed a bit surprised that John would admit as much.

“Why?” he asked, still cautious. 

“Why don’t you come inside and shut the door?  Have a drink?” John offered with a raised eyebrow.  For a long moment neither man moved. Until finally Arthur heaved a heavy sigh and complied, stepping into the room, and shutting the door tightly behind him. John barely managed not to grin at his victory. 

Arthur’s gun had dropped a little more, now aiming somewhere around his belly, as John took another long drink from the bottle in his hand.  Proving it wasn’t poisoned or drugged, before holding it out to Arthur. The man hesitated for a long time before closing the distance between them and taking the bottle, though he didn’t take a drink himself. Instead Arthur’s eyes roamed over him, and John knew exactly what the man was seeing.

Arthur’s eyes lingered briefly on the healing scars and bruises on John’s face before dropping down to the green neckerchief tied around his throat.  An obvious symbol of the O’Driscoll gang. The older man’s mouth pulled into a deeper frown, but it seemed more… disappointed this time than angry.

“You went back to Colm,” Arthur observed aloud and John simply shrugged.

“Where else was I supposed to go?” John asked curiously. 

“Anywhere!” Arthur hissed in reply, and John frowned.

“Where would _you_ have gone?” he countered, and Arthur’s jaw snapped shut.  John took pleasure in having rendered Morgan speechless for a moment before he shrugged again and sighed.  Then he reached up to untie the cloth from around his neck, “He wasn’t exactly pleased when I _did_ show up, anyway.”

As the neckerchief fell away, he heard Arthur’s audible gasp.  Saw the man’s eyes widen at the dark bruising that ringed his throat.  John knew it still looked bad, even after nearly a week. It was something Colm liked doing sometimes.  He knew John still had nightmares about the noose. So the older man enjoyed putting his hands, or even a belt, around John’s throat during sex.  Fucking John while he was so close to panicking and passing out was a major turn on for Colm. It was also a punishment of sorts, and this time John had certainly deserved it.  He was just lucky it hadn't been worse.  But Arthur didn’t need to know that. The man’s eyes moved lower along his chest, taking in additional bruises and bite marks that John had deliberately left on display. Given Arthur’s repulsed expression, John knew he was coming to exactly the conclusions that he wanted the man to. 

“What did he do to you?” Arthur asked.  Though by the sound of it, he didn’t really want to know.  John dropped his gaze, as if ashamed, and shook his head.

“It don’t matter.  Soon as I could walk, I left, and… I ain’t going back,” John replied softly.  When he glanced at Arthur again from the corner of his eye he noted that the man was no longer pointing his gun at him.  That's when knew he had Arthur Morgan right where he wanted him, “I ain't got nowhere else to go, Arthur.”


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur honestly wasn’t sure what to think.

He’d never expected to see John Marston again in the first place.  He’d had no idea if the younger man had even made it off the mountain alive.  Oh, he had hoped. But he wasn’t stupid either. A man alone, in John’s condition, in that kind of weather… the chances of him making it to safety had been slim at best. 

While Arthur was grateful to see all his efforts hadn’t been completely in vain…

He couldn’t help being angry.  Angry at John. That after all he had risked, to get John to safety, the first thing the stupid boy had done was run right back to Colm.  Angry at every brutal mark that had been left on the boy as a result. Angry enough that Arthur’s first instinct upon realizing what they meant was to storm out, hunt the sick bastard down, and empty his entire revolver directly in Colm’s face. 

Arthur took a step back, literally and figuratively.  He turned to face the window and finally lifted the bottle in his hands to his lips to take a long drink.  If nothing else, he definitely felt like he needed some booze right now. He could feel John’s eyes on him, practically burning holes through his back as he waited for a reply to his plea, but Arthur needed a moment to think.  He’d let himself get emotionally invested in John Marston’s fate once already and it had nearly cost him _everything_ .  Things were just starting to get back to _normal…_ and now…

The damn boy couldn’t have waltzed back into his life at a worse time.

He wanted to believe John.  He truly did… and that was a problem.  He wasn’t exactly objective when it came to John, and he wasn’t sure if he _could_ believe the younger man.  It sounded too good to be true, for one.  This was exactly what he and Hosea had been hoping for… well, before everything had gone to hell.  To convince John to leave the O’Driscoll gang. For John to let them help him start a new life. While it would never make up for having abandoned him as a child… at least it was something.  Maybe John would even agree to stay… with them... where they could look out for him properly…

But after what had happened in Colter, that was impossible.  There was no way Dutch, or anyone else for that matter, would trust John.  They’d probably shoot him on sight. Or worse Dutch would order the boy _questioned_ for information on Colm first, and _then_ he’d be killed.  There wouldn’t be a damn thing Arthur could do to stop it… because he’d most likely be dead too at that point. 

Not to mention, after everything Colm had put John Marston through over the years, it was a little difficult to believe that only _now_ John was getting the idea to leave.  It didn’t make much sense… but maybe John had never tried to get out before, because he’d really had nowhere else to go.  No one to turn to for help…

How sad was it that John might feel the only person he could turn to for help was _Arthur_?

Christ…

“Arthur?” John’s hesitant voice penetrated through his swirling thoughts. Arthur let out a heavy sigh and shook his head.  He was probably going to regret this…

“You can’t stay here,” he finally said. 

“You’re not gonna help me?” John asked.  Arthur turned to face the younger man, and he thought he saw a genuine flash of fear in John’s eyes for a second.  If this was all an act… it was pretty damn convincing.

“I didn’t say that! Just that you can’t stay _here_.  In Valentine,” Arthur clarified quickly, “If anyone in my gang sees you… They’ll kill you on sight.  Probably kill me too if they find out I was with you.”

At that, John visibly relaxed. 

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” John said, sounding far too unconcerned for Arthur’s liking.  Arthur scowled deeply.

“I’m serious!  Valentine is far too close to… where we’re camped...” Arthur checked himself at the last second.

“At Horseshoe Overlook, I know,” John replied, and then laughed at Arthur’s shocked expression, “You folk ain’t exactly been subtle.  Especially you. Everyone in town’s been talking about you and that fight. Me on the other hand? No one’s looked twice, even with this.” John gestured vaguely to the marred side of his face.

“Even so, it still ain’t safe…” Arthur started to argue when a thought occurred to him that snapped his jaw shut with a click, “How long have you been here?”

John grinned slowly.  That same cocky grin that he’d given Arthur outside.

“Long enough,” he answered cryptically, then looked down to the bottle Arthur still had in his hand, “If you’re not going to drink that, can I have it back?”

Arthur looked at the hand that John held out for the bottle.  It was steady. Not the slightest tremor in his fingers. Swanson had been certain that if John survived at all, the frostbite would permanently cripple the boy’s hands.  Not that the old drunk preacher was much of a doctor but… Arthur had already seen what a good shot John was when he’d managed to shoot that _wolf_ clean through the head, even though his hands had been shaking badly then…

“It was you,” Arthur muttered, “That day, outside the saloon.  You shot that man.”

It wasn’t a question.  John stared back at him, not denying it.

“You say that like it was a bad thing.  He was going to kill you,” John replied, giving a slight shrug.  Like it didn’t matter he'd killed a man. Maybe it didn’t, “Think of it as a down payment.  For what I owe you.”

Arthur frowned, not liking the direction this was going.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Arthur said firmly.  He hadn’t helped John back in Colter because he expected something in return.  He sure as hell wasn’t expecting any sort of payment this time around either. Christ, it seemed like he’d already made up his mind.  But who was he trying to fool really? Did he really think he _wouldn’t_ help John Marston? Especially with the younger man actually _asking_ for it this time?

John tilted his head to the side, reminding Arthur of a mangy but curious dog, as the boy considered him.  Then John slowly eased himself up from the bed and approached. No, not a dog. More like a coyote or wolf, because Arthur was definitely feeling stalked with the intense way John was now staring at him.

“Don’t I?  I think maybe I do…” John said, his voice dropping lower as he came to stand in front of Arthur.  He reached down to take back the bottle that Arthur had practically forgotten and John took another long drink from it.  He couldn’t help but watch John’s throat bob as he swallowed. Then the young man set the bottle aside and licked his lips as he shifted even closer to Arthur, “I don’t have much money… but I promise, I always pay my way.”

Arthur felt his face flush at John’s words, the heavy insinuation behind them, and tried to take a desperate step back.  Only he wasn’t paying attention to where he was going and only ended up walking right into the wall, preventing his planned escape. It startled him enough he didn’t manage to get out the protest building in his throat, before John pressed himself firmly up against his front.  The younger man wasted no time then, slipping a warm hand behind his neck, and covering Arthur’s lips with his own.

Arthur’s hands flew to John’s shoulders, gripping them tightly.  However his intent to push the younger man back was derailed when John groaned and nipped lightly at his lower lip, making Arthur gasp in shock.  Which the boy took complete advantage of. His tongue sliding boldly into Arthur’s mouth, curling behind his teeth and stroking over the soft palate, making Arthur shiver involuntarily. 

It had been a long time since Arthur had been with anyone… so he could probably be forgiven for getting… distracted.  Especially when a strong thigh slipped between his legs. John’s mouth tasting of whiskey and cigarettes as his tongue twined with his own, a silent promise of how good it would be…

Thankfully Arthur came back to his senses rather quickly, before something happened that he knew he’d never forgive himself for, and pushed the younger man back firmly but as gently as possible.

“No!” Arthur managed once his mouth was free, but he didn’t like how rough and needy his voice sounded.  He cleared his throat before continuing, “I told you. You don’t owe me _nothing_ .  Especially not that.” 

John blinked at him, clearly surprised.  Then the younger man rolled his eyes and stepped back.  Arthur was glad for the breathing room.  John turned to make his way back over to the bed and grabbed a pack of cigarettes off the end table.  The younger man let out a harsh laugh before lighting up.

“You’re a goddamn hypocrite,” John muttered around the cigarette now hanging from his lips. 

“Excuse me?” Arthur demanded, shocked by the sudden change in demeanor.  It was enough to give a man whiplash.

“You heard me.  I know you ain’t so _noble_ as you pretend.  You certainly ain’t been so forgiving of other people’s debts around here,” John stated knowingly and it felt like pouring ice water down Arthur’s back.

“That… that’s different!”

John sat down on the bed and looked at Arthur with a raised eyebrow.

“How is it _any_ different?  You say I don’t owe you nothing?  But you ain’t got _no_ problem collecting debts from folk around here, and beating the shit out of them if they can’t pay.  Or is that the part that gets you off?”

Arthur felt appalled.  He shook his head in denial.

“Those debts was for _money_.  That’s all!  Not… anything else.  I’d never do… that… to you or anyone else,” he tried to explain.  John merely scoffed at him.

“So, fucking over desperate folk, taking everything they have, and beating them when they got nothing left, is _better_ than _literally_ fucking them?  You want money then? Fine? How much? How soon I gotta pay before you try to take it out of my hide instead?” John demanded bitterly. 

“Jesus, John…” Arthur whispered, his mind reeling.  He had no idea how all this had spiraled out of control so quickly.  How it had gone from John begging for his help, then kissing him, to hissing at him like a pissed off rattlesnake.  He approached the younger man carefully, as though John might actually strike out at him. He certainly seemed agitated enough at this point.  Then he slowly crouched down in front of John so he could at least be on eye level with the man as they spoke.

“Listen to me,” Arthur said slowly, as calmly as he could, given the situation, “I don’t know what you’re thinking… but my help ain’t ever come with a price tag, and it never will.  You have my word on that. Those debts… that… was just gang business. Nothing more…”

John snorted derisively.

“Yeah… I seen the way your _gang_ handles _business_ ,” John replied.  Arthur winced.

“It ain’t… usually like that.  Things just… got out of hand,” Arthur protested, hating that he was using the very same excuse Dutch had given to him.  It was probably just as much a comfort to John as it had been to Arthur at the time. Namely, no comfort at all.  Arthur pushed on anyway, “We ain’t like the O’Driscoll gang.  I promise. We’re better. We don’t hurt innocent folk…”

At that, John actually laughed, and it wasn’t a pleasant sound. 

“So you all get to decide who and who ain’t innocent?  How nice… You only helping me cause you think I’m _innocent_ ?” John asked, but continued on before Arthur had the chance to respond, “ _Kieran_ was innocent.  We only picked him up recently as we was robbing a big horse ranch.  He was working as a stable hand, and probably would have been killed along with everyone else.  But I pointed out to Colm we needed someone to look after all the new horses we were taking… so Colm gave Kieran a choice.  Join the O’Driscoll gang, and he’d stay alive, as long as he was _useful_ .  That’s all the boy did.  Look after the horses. He never shot or killed _anyone_ in the few months he was with us… if you really wanted to save someone _innocent_ , Arthur… you shoulda shot _me_ when you had the chance.”

Arthur could practically feel the knife twisting in his gut at those words. 

“I’m sorry…” he whispered, not really knowing what else to say.  John sighed heavily and took another drag off his cigarette, looking away from Arthur’s eyes.

“Guess it don’t matter now.  He’s dead,” he said. Arthur hesitated a moment, before reaching out to lay a gentle hand on John’s knee, drawing the younger man’s attention back to him.

“It does matter.  I’m sorry your friend died.  He seemed like a good kid, and I wish… I could have done something to stop it.  But just because you think he was a better man… don’t mean you deserved to die in his place.  Maybe you ain’t _innocent_ , but everyone deserves a second chance.  I ain’t a good man, either. I know that. But I’ll still help you however I can, and that help won’t come with any debt attached.  Ever. I promise,” Arthur said as earnestly as he knew how.

John avoided looking in his eyes, instead staring down at the hand on his knee.  Arthur went to remove it and he was surprised when John’s free hand moved to cover it with his own.

“I… thank you, Arthur,” John finally replied, his voice barely above a whisper.  

 

* * *

 

Arthur felt exhausted when he finally rode back into Horseshoe Overlook near nightfall. 

He still didn’t like the idea of John staying in Valentine, with his gang so close, but at least John had agreed to remain in his room in the hotel.  Out of sight. To let Arthur bring him anything he needed, at least for now, rather than risk going out in town himself where he could be seen. At least until they could figure out a better solution.  Also, it was somewhat comforting to know that John was close by, where Arthur could watch out for him. Where he could get to him fairly quickly if something happened.  Such as if the O’Driscoll’s came looking for John…

“How did it go?” Strauss’ voice from behind startled Arthur as he was removing the saddle from the Shire Horse, nearly dropping it.  He’d been so distracted he hadn’t even noticed the man’s approach.

“What?” he asked in confusion.

“Your meeting with Mr. Downes?  Were you successful?” Strauss elaborated with a frown. Shit.  He’d completely forgotten why he’d left camp to begin with, and he didn’t exactly have a good excuse ready for being gone so long, and ignoring a job.  The last thing he needed was to rouse any suspicion...

“It went fine.  About the same as usual,” Arthur lied, and Strauss nodded in approval, "I'll put the money in the box."

“Thank you, Mister Morgan.  Efficient as always. I’ll let you know when I have more work for you.”

Arthur watched the loan shark walk away, and cursed under his breath.  What a goddamn mess. He finished getting the Shire settled and made his way over to Dutch’s tent, reaching into his satchel to pull out a portion of his own funds to cover the debt owed by Downes.  The man was one lucky bastard, that was for sure. The thought of _actually_ going to collect the funds from the man left a bad taste in his mouth after his discussion with John.

Buying a new horse was just going to have to wait...


	5. Chapter 5

“Arthur!  Arthur wake up!”

Arthur sat up bolt right in his cot, his hand already reaching for his guns before he was fully awake.  Given the urgency he heard in Abigail’s tone, he’d fully expected to wake up to the camp being attacked!  But everything seemed relatively peaceful. Though there seemed to be a little more activity around the camp than normal this morning.

“What’s wrong?” he asked groggily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“It’s Sean!” Abigail’s reply definitely woke him up.  

“Sean?  What about Sean?” 

Had he been found?  Was he still alive? Was he…

“Trelawny rode in this morning.  Said he was alive. Some bounty hunters have him near Blackwater.  Dutch wanted to see you,” Abigail answered, anxiously wringing her hands in her skirt.  Arthur nodded as he stood and started to head to Dutch’s tent, but stopped when Abigail grabbed his arm.

“You have to bring him back.  Please, Arthur…” she begged softly, and Arthur patted her hand comfortingly.  

“Of course,” he replied.  As though there was ever any doubt.  She let him go and he quickly headed to Dutch’s tent.  Trelawny was still there, along with a few other men in the gang.  

“Good of you to finally join us, Morgan,” Bill muttered, but Arthur ignored him.  

“What’s going on, Dutch?” Arthur asked, getting right to business.

“Trelawny has news from Blackwater.  Said he saw Sean in the hands of some bounty hunters near there.  He’s still alive.”

“Or was, the last I saw of him.  There had been talk of moving him, but that was a while ago now.  I was passing by Valentine by chance on business when I heard you were nearby.  But you had been… detained by the local law. I finally managed to track you down here. Hopefully it is not too late,” Trelawny explained, and Arthur saw Javier, Charles, and Bill shuffle their feet a little guiltily.  Arthur felt much the same way. If only they hadn’t been arrested they might have learned about Sean much sooner…

“Even so,” Dutch spoke up, demanding their attention, “If there is a chance Sean is still alive, we have to try.  Arthur, I want you, Charles, and Javier to head to Blackwater with Josiah. See if you can find those bounty hunters and if Sean is still alive, bring him back.”

“Of course,” Arthur repeated his promise to Abigail.  Even if going back to Blackwater, after everything that had happened, would practically be suicide with all those Pinkertons and bounty hunters milling about.  They couldn’t just abandon one of their own.  

“It’s you they want, Dutch,” Trelawny reminded them.  Which meant, if Sean was still alive, and still being kept near Blackwater, if was for a reason.  It was probably a trap.  

“It always is,” Dutch agreed.  But, trap or not, they wouldn’t just cut Sean loose.  The man had a family. He was one of _them_.  That’s what made them different from other gangs.  They didn’t leave people behind, “Head out as soon as you can.”

Arthur nodded and quickly started packing his saddlebags for the trip to Blackwater.  Making sure to take as much ammo as the camp could spare. They were probably going to need it.  It wasn’t until he was attaching the bags to his horse's saddle when he froze in realization.  

John… If he was heading to Blackwater, that would mean at least a good week of travel.  If everything went well. If it didn’t… he might not make it back at all. John had promised to stay in his hotel room, out of sight.  Arthur had brought him a few things, food and some money that should tide him over that long… but he was probably expecting to see Arthur again long before then.  What if he thought Arthur had broken his promise? Abandoned him… Arthur didn’t even have time to make a stop in Valentine to let John know what was going on.  

Cursing under his breath, Arthur dug out his journal and scribbled a quick note on one of the blank pages, before ripping it out of the book.  He folded it carefully before writing _Room Number 2_ on the outside.  He went to find Abigail.  Thankfully she was alone for the moment, rocking her infant daughter anxiously while Jack played in the dirt nearby.  

“Abigail?  I’m heading out now.  We’ll bring Sean back, I promise.  But I need to ask you a favor,” Arthur felt like a bit of an ass for even asking, but she was the only one he could trust with this. She wouldn’t show his letter to anyone else, and wouldn’t read it herself.  Maybe it would even help, giving her something to do rather than worry constantly.  

“Thank you, Arthur.  What is it?” she asked.  

“Next time you head into Valentine, can you give this letter to the hotel clerk?” he asked.  Her gaze turned questioning as she took the letter from him.

“Got a sweetheart in town, Arthur?” she asked, forcing a certain playfulness into her tone, despite her obvious worry for Searn.  Arthur shook his head.  

“It ain’t like that.  Just… no rush or anything.  Just within the next couple days, please?” he asked.  He knew he was being vague as hell, and that probably only made Abigail more curious.  But frankly, it was just better if she didn’t know. For everyone involved.  

“Alright… be careful, Arthur,” she replied.  He smiled gratefully and kissed her lightly on the cheek in thanks.  As he made his way over to his horse, he told himself it would be fine.  Abigail would be fine. Valentine wasn’t a dangerous town. No one knew John was nearby.  He never would have asked her if he thought it would put her in harm's way. Even if she did read the note, he didn’t include John’s name in it.  Arthur could just as easily have written the note for a random whore he’d met in town… 

Satisfied he’d done all he could, he saddled up and followed Javier, Charles, and Trelawny out of camp.  They’d find Sean. Bring him back. Maybe even learn what had happened to Mac. They might have lost Davey and Jenny, but if they could bring Sean and Mac back… at least that would be something.  

They rode as fast as they dared back towards Blackwater.  

 

* * *

 

John reclined on his bed in the small hotel room, a cigarette dangling lazily from his fingers.  He blew out a puff of smoke into the air, and watched it dance above his head with a bored expression.  He’d sent a letter to Colm a couple days ago, letting him know that he’d made contact with Arthur Morgan, but he hadn’t heard anything back yet.  

He thought about what Colm had told him to do.  To _get close_ to Morgan.  Well… his first attempt at _that_ hadn’t gone exactly as planned.  

John had gone too fast. He _knew_ that.  Knew it was a risk.  While John had learned from a young age that most men _wouldn’t_ turn down the chance to get their cock sucked, even if they _didn’t_ like men that way (or so they claimed).  There was still always a chance someone would react… badly… to such advances.  He hadn’t _thought_ Arthur would beat him, or even kill him, just for kissing him… but he hadn’t been sure either.  Arthur hadn’t reacted all that badly.  In fact, the sounds Arthur had made when John kissed him had been rather favorable.  But the man had still pushed John away, refused his offer, and… John wasn’t sure how to feel about it all. It wasn’t really something that had ever happened before.

He just… maybe he’d wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.  While he might have liked the idea of Arthur Morgan fucking him before, the idea was far less appealing now.  Especially under these circumstances. But that had backfired and now John wasn’t sure how to proceed. How else was he supposed to get close to Morgan?  To gain his trust, as Colm had wanted? What did Colm even want him to _do_ with that trust once he got it?  John doubted that Arthur would ever do anything like betray his gang.  He was far too _noble_ for something like that.  

The whole thing bothered John more than he wanted to admit.  He’d still do what Colm wanted him to do. There was no question about that.  It was just… 

John huffed in frustration as he sat up and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.  When the hell did he start to grow a conscience? He didn’t owe anything to Arthur Morgan.  It wasn’t like John had _asked_ for his help back in Colter, or on the mountain.  He’d done plenty of bad things to people who were far better than Arthur Morgan.  

John started to pace around the room.  He hadn’t seen Arthur for a few days now.  No word from Colm. No word from Arthur either.  John didn’t want to admit it was beginning to concern him.  He didn’t have any reason to be worried. If Colm had made some kind of move, he would have contacted John by now.  If Van der Linde had somehow discovered Arthur was helping him… surely _they_ would have come for him.  Unless… somehow they found out, but didn’t know where he was.  If Arthur had kept his mouth shut about the whole thing. They could be trying to _make him talk_ even now…

He wasn’t _worried_ , damn it!  He just… he needed to know if he should be getting out of town.  That was all. Yes, he’d promised Arthur he’d stay in his room. That didn’t mean he had to _keep_ that promise.  He needed information, and he wasn’t going to get it from in here.  

John picked up his hat and his gunbelt, donning both before heading to the door.  He turned up the collar of his jacket to partially hide the scars on his face and kept his head down.  It wouldn’t conceal his identity if someone took a _good_ look at him.  But most people in town didn’t look too closely to begin with.  He’d go to the post office first, see if there was any word from Colm.  Then maybe he’d head over to the saloon and listen in on local gossip. He wasn’t dumb enough to ride past Horseshoe Overlook to see what was going on. He wasn’t suicidal.  But… maybe if he went at night, and just checked the place over with his binoculars…

Mud squelched under his boots as he took a shortcut between some buildings. Reasoning there’d be less of a chance he’d come across anyone.  Usually he’d be correct. But to his surprise, he turned the corner to find two figures in the narrow space. A woman and a man. Not really out of the ordinary.  Even in a town like this there were plenty of whores. But even in the darkness he could see the woman clearly struggling against the hold the man had on her.  He arrived just in time to see the woman kick her attacker and the man swear something fierce before backhanding the woman hard enough to send her to the ground.  

“Fucking whore…” the man growled, grabbing the woman by her dark hair.  Something in John snapped.

“Hey!  Get your damn hands off her!” 

“Stay out of this you bast--aaaahhhh!” the man screamed as the woman managed to stab the man in his inner thigh with a small dagger while he was distracted.  The man released the woman immediately as he stumbled back. John couldn’t help being impressed. Unfortunately the man recovered far sooner than he would have liked, and drew his gun from his holster, aiming it at the woman.

“You bitch!”  

John didn’t hesitate drawing his own gun and firing.  Even as the man fell down dead, John winced. This was now the _second_ time he’d killed a man right in the middle of town.  Definitely not the way he usually did things. He should probably make a hasty exit.  Someone was bound to come check on that gunshot… still, he should at least see if the woman was all right before he left.  He walked over to her as she picked herself up the ground.

“You okay, miss?” he asked.  

“Fine.  Thank-- You!” the woman gasped and took a step away from him.  It took longer than it should have for John to realize it was because she recognized him.  He recognized her too, he realized with dismay. He’d seen her briefly while he’d been kneeling in the snow in Colter with a gun pointed at his head… 

“Ah, fuck…” 

**Author's Note:**

> 


End file.
